


i could not travel both

by illiterateidiot



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Multi, POV Alana Bloom, POV Jack Crawford, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, allusions to minor character death, bc i realized that's not really a general audience thing, rated t for discussions of offscreen violence and drugging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26409661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illiterateidiot/pseuds/illiterateidiot
Summary: “I found you,” Jack says to him, making it sound like he rescued Will from the clutches of something too evil to be named. Will's calm demeanor changes to something sharp and mocking. Alana is reminded of Freddie Lounds’s funeral.“You caught me,” Will corrects. For a man like Jack Crawford there is not much that can make him flinch anymore. This does.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 22
Kudos: 262





	1. i doubted if i should ever come back

The issue with hiding from the Devil is that the man obsessed with his capture still has Alana’s number. Jack leaves her the simple message, “We got him. I need you here, now.” and Alana takes a private Verger jet to Baltimore. It takes her less than six hours to get there, and the minute she walks into holding she realizes Jack tricked her. She is unsure if Hannibal would be proud of the manipulation or look down on the simplicity of it. He is who she expected to see in a holding cell, looking unperturbed by the simple boundary of handcuffs. Instead she finds Will Graham looking calmly through the glass. She would bet money that no matter what they see, Will Graham is not in that room. He is standing in his stream, or whatever passes for it after so much time with Hannibal. She imagines the river runs red, now.

“You lied to me,” Alana accuses Jack, letting the anger seep out. Endangering her is one thing, but her wife and child are a completely different story. After Will, however, it really should not surprise Alana that Jack is willing to put her family in danger to further his witch hunt.

“Not technically,” he responds, sounding blank. She knows it’s a front. She knows he is heartbroken by the sight of Will Graham in a holding cell looking calm, safe, and unharmed.

“Have you talked to him yet?” She asks instead of pushing him. Five years ago, she would have yelled at him and turned her heel for something like this, and she might still, but this opportunity is too big to throw away for the small satisfaction she would gain from walking away from him.

“No, I waited for you. I need someone who knows Will. A psychiatrist who can see past his front,” Alana thinks the only person who has ever been able to see past Will’s front, psychiatrist or no, is Hannibal Lecter. The thought goes unspoken, but heard in the silence, and Jack’s jaw clenches. “I just- I need to know your professional opinion on Will Graham’s… life with Hannibal. I can admit I’ve got a blind spot when it comes to Will. I need someone level-headed and clinical to read between the lines.”

“If you wanted that you’d get someone who’s never been involved, Jack. You’d get someone who doesn’t know you or Will or Hannibal so personally. What you want from me is comfort. You want someone who is going to hurt as bad as you when Will gives us an answer and it’s not the one you want,” Jack doesn’t deny this, at least. He’s not too far gone to believe his own lies, at least. The words “at least” come into play with Jack Crawford more often than Alana is comfortable with. Anything to get his man. “If comfort’s what you need, I’m here, Jack. You made sure of that. I’m here, and I’m hoping with everything I have that Will was forced to go with Hannibal. That there was no choice.”

“But that’s not what you believe.” It’s not a question. She doesn’t answer. He walks into the belly of the beast.

Will’s calm is not shattered, but the glossy look in his eye is lost when Jack steps through the door. He holds himself like he’s the one in charge even while in chains. It is so much like Hannibal she shivers, not surprised by the goosebumps making their way up her arms. Alana reminds herself Will is behind glass and she is out here, safe. She had to do it every day for three years with Hannibal. It did not help much then either.

“I found you,” Jack says to him, making it sound like he rescued Will from the clutches of something too evil to be named. Will's calm demeanor changes to something sharp and mocking. Alana is reminded of Freddie Lounds’s funeral.

“You _caught_ me,” Will corrects. For a man like Jack Crawford there is not much that can make him flinch anymore. This does. The gleam in Will’s eye tells Alana that is what he wanted. To flap the unflappable.

“What happened, Will?” Jack asks, and Alana knows he means the night Will was meant to take down both Hannibal and the Great Red Dragon. They had some clarity. They figured Hannibal, or Hannibal _and_ Will, had killed the Dragon, and afterward, through means they could only speculate, the two of them sailed over the cliff. They thought the two were dead—Jack hailing Will a hero who used his final breath to stop Hannibal the Cannibal—until five months later they were spotted recovering in Cuba by a Tattle Crime fanatic. They cleared out fast, and Hannibal left them a mocking note in the form of said fanatic’s corpse. It has been three months since they found the man with his eyes lodged in his own throat, Jack cracking further and further under the weight of the unknown variables of their descent, and now their recovery. Will does something surprising to Alana then; he answers the question.

“We killed the Dragon. Hannibal ripped out his throat with his teeth, I ripped open his stomach with a knife. I embraced Hannibal and sent us over the cliff. We were supposed to die,” he describes the events like they’re discussing the weather. He almost seems disinterested, but there’s a softness to his eyes that makes Alana think it’s a memory he’s terribly fond of. Terribly protective of as well if the evasion of details is anything to go by. “But the ocean found us too terrible to take and spit us out onto shore. You can imagine the rest from there.” Except Jack can’t, Alana knows, because he still hopes Will Graham is a good man. He still hopes Will’s dance with the Devil is a matter of survival.

“Will, we can protect you,” Jack tells him, determined to save who Alana once thought was broken but realizes now was simply lost. She remembers a time she had wanted to study him; to fix him. Being fixed was never what Will wanted. Being known is what he had craved. If only she had realized it before Hannibal Lecter. “We can put you in protective custody, claim you did what you did under duress, I know-”

“You don’t _know_ anything, Jack,” Will says, breaking his calm. He actually seems offended. “You still view me as something breakable. Damaged goods you have to handle with care. Well guess what, Jack? I broke. I cracked and I splintered, and I put the pieces back together my _self_. My choices are undoubtedly influenced by Hannibal Lecter, but they are still _my_ choices. I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m not waiting to be saved. I walked eyes wide open into the dragon’s lair and I chose to stay,” he looks Jack directly in the eye. “Is that duress?” Jack swallows, avoiding Will’s eyes. _Oh, how far we’ve come_ , Alana thinks.

“Stockholm syndrome-”

“Stockholm syndrome implies he took me, and out of subconscious desperation to survive I bonded with my captor. I told you myself, Jack. I reminded you before I left. There will always be a part of me that wants to run away with Hannibal. I just… took stock of each part of me, and realized it weighed heavier than the rest.” Jack shakes his head like it doesn’t make sense. To Alana, it makes perfect sense. But she gave up on hope for Will the day he stepped back into Hannibal’s orbit. Jack still remains afflicted by who they thought Will Graham to be.

“Then why are you being so open?” Jack demands. “Why are you telling us everything?” Alana is curious herself.

“I want to dissuade hope,” Will tells him. “I’m not broken. I’m not being coerced by Hannibal Lecter. I am completely aware of my actions. I choose him and I will continue to.”

“And Molly? What about your wife?” A bittersweet smile weighs on Will’s face.

“I loved her. I cared about her, and I cared about her son, and I thought it would be enough to make up for the family I lost. It wasn’t, and I wish I’d listened to the warnings in my head to let them be, but the warnings sounded like Hannibal, so I happily ignored them,” he quirks a happier smile. “I’m still not prone to listening to his warnings. Infuriates him. Endears him more, though, or else I’d be stew,” and he says it like it’s normal; like it’s easy to know Hannibal chooses to keep him alive because his endearment outweighs his irritation. Alana wonders if Will ever fears the day that flip switches. From the easy way he smiles, he doesn’t.

“Hannibal tried to kill your second family. Just like he did your first,” Jack says like he hopes to upset Will. Will just raises an eyebrow as if to say, _do you think this is new information?_ Alana nearly finds herself laughing at the expression. The desperation on Jack’s face stops her.

“We’ve discussed it. Molly and Wally’s lives are a lot less interesting to him now that I’m with him.”

“So that’s why you’re staying?” Jack grasps onto hope like an open flame. Both will inevitably burn him. “To protect your wife and son?” Will almost looks sad for Jack, if he weren’t so busy looking angry.

“I stay with Hannibal Lecter because I want to be with Hannibal Lecter,” he says simply, but passionately. “Hannibal will not kill them because I asked him not to kill them. Not because I stayed, not because I begged, but because I _asked_.” And that surprises Alana. She knew Will chose this life, chose Hannibal, but she figured the power was still fully in Hannibal’s hands. The fact that a simple request could sway Hannibal from the violence he is so inclined to wreak suggests, perhaps, otherwise.

“You expect me to believe he let them go because you… asked nicely?”

“He likes to hear me say please,” he smiles. “But the two of you know all about that, don’t you?” Alana freezes from behind the glass. A single sentence turns the bullet-proof barrier into nothing more than tissue paper.

“The two of us?” Jack asks, feigning ignorance. Alana wishes he wouldn’t. She knows it will just make Will annoyed. She’s right.

“That’s why interrogation took so long. You pulled Alana from whatever corner of the world she’s hidden, probably tricked her into thinking Hannibal was the one you had, and now she’s watching because her bravery has always gotten in the way of her safety,” Will looks at Jack with a mild level of disappointment. “If you wanted her presence to be a secret, it was very poorly kept,” Jack sighs, running his hand against the motion. “I want to talk to her.” Jack nods sullenly. Alana’s blood runs cold.

“I’ll invite her in.” It would be so easy to just leave. Fly back to her family. Read Morgan to sleep and cozy up by the fire with Margot.

“ _Alone._ ” It shocks Alana enough to send her mind from warm thoughts of her wife and child to mentally calculating any way Hannibal could possibly kill her from an interrogation room he isn’t inside of.

“Absolutely not,” Jack immediately says, and it brings Alana a warmth for him she forgot she still had.

“I need to speak with her privately,” Will continues. “No cameras, no glass, no one else.”

“And what makes you think she’d agree to that?” Will smiles. It is terrible.

“ _Digestivo,_ ” is all Will says, and Alana nearly vomits from the memories it conjures. Jack looks like he is about to disagree again, and Alana is grateful, but through the intercom she says, “I’ll do it, Jack.” Jack looks surprised. Will does not. She knew he wouldn’t.

It takes ten minutes of Alana reiterating that she will do it but not explaining why, and five officers escorting Will to a private, unsurveillanced interrogation room, but she is alone in a room with Will Graham for the first time in seven months. It feels like years have passed between them. He smiles when the door closes. She does not return it.

“It’s good to see you, Alana.” He means it.

“I wish it were good to see you.” She means it too.

“I thought Hannibal killed Mason,” Will begins without preamble. Alana can feel the cool of dread trickle up her spine.

“Officially, he did.”

“It made sense,” he continues. “Mason hurt him, Mason hurt me, and worst of all, in the eyes of Hannibal Lecter, he was _unspeakably_ rude,” he says it like they’re sharing a joke. “But Hannibal didn’t kill Mason. It wouldn’t have been conducive to Margot’s therapy.”

“No,” she agrees. “It wouldn’t have.”

“Or yours.” Alana lets out a long, angry breath.

“Is this really what you want to talk about, Will?” She has not thought about Mason Verger and his very fortunate end in a long time.

“I have to admit, I was… curious as to how you, Alana Bloom, who has always chosen justice over violence, participated in the murder of Mason Verger.” It is almost a relief that he says it simply rather than dancing around the issue with more metaphors and suggestions, as he is so prone. _Almost_.

“Who says I did?”

“You _did_.” It is laid out as a fact. One he knows without question. She wonders how he came to the conclusion; what leaps of logic he had to take to figure out Hannibal was, more or less, innocent in the death of Mason Verger, and Margot had a partner in crime. Silently, she wracks her brain for an excuse that is not the truth. Will watches her. He has always excelled in silence.

“I sent you to kill Hannibal for the same reason I helped kill Mason,” and she says it without guilt because she is not guilty. “Some monsters can’t be left to justice. Not in this world.” Will looks unimpressed, and Alana wonders why she thought he would buy the lie.

“You didn’t kill Mason out of a sense of duty to the world, Alana. You didn’t send me to kill Hannibal out of duty either. You wanted them dead because they posed an immediate threat to your family,” he lays it out plainly, and Alana wonders why he asked at all. “You killed Mason because he hurt the woman you love, and you tried to kill Hannibal because he threatened her and the child you have together. It’s not a question of morality in who you choose to kill. It’s…” he considers for a moment, before finally landing on, “selfishness.”

“I don’t regret what I did,” and she means it.

“I don’t expect you to. You’re brave, Alana. Braver than I think even Hannibal gives you credit for. But I’m here to tell you that it’s time to be safe rather than brave.” That throws her for a loop.

“What?”

“Molly and Walter aren’t the only people I’ve asked Hannibal to spare.” The words don’t compute to Alana’s brain. “Hannibal” and “spare” can’t be spoken in the same breath to Alana and have them mean anything.

“You can’t-” She doesn’t know what to say. “You can’t be serious.” Like he has just given her a gift with more value than she can stomach.

“You child doesn’t deserve to lose his mother due to a petty reckoning.”

“I was under the impression he’d kill them too.” Will nods his head, like he has thought about it too.

“I’m sure he had plenty of ideas of how he’d carry out his promise. Kill you, leave your wife and child to their own devices. Kill them in front of you and kill you after. Or leave you to rot with the memory of their deaths until he decides to completely cash in on the promise,” he shrugs, like it’s inconsequential rather than Alana’s biggest fear put into words. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re safe.” It’s too good to be true. It’s too _easy_ for a man like Hannibal.

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I?”

“Get me out of hiding,” she says. “Put me in the line of fire.” But Will shakes his head, and in the next breath shakes her world on its axis.

“For the past three months you and your family have lived in Bermuda, in a small, unsuspecting house with armed guards made to look like visiting family and friends,” Alana goes stock still. Will says the next words gently, “We’ve known, Alana. We never didn’t know.”

With gritted teeth she says, “So if you don’t plan to kill me, _why_ do you know?” Will gives her a small smile.

“To have this conversation.”

“So that’s why you’re here?” She asks in disbelief. “You got caught by the police to let me know I’m _safe?"_

“No, I got caught by the police for stopping to get a country steak at a diner in Baltimore.” Despite herself, Alana laughs.

“Hard to believe _Hannibal Lecter_ let you go a crappy diner for something like steak and didn’t just make it for you himself.” She meant it as a joke, a familiarity she let herself get caught up in, but Will straightens in his chair. The casual demeanor becomes something dangerous and pointed. It sobers Alana’s humor immediately.

“Are you under the same impression as Jack?” He asks, voice devoid of the warmth it had before. “That I do what I do because Hannibal “lets” me? That I’m not in my own control?” It is here that Alana realizes Will’s demeanor was never _not_ dangerous. He has held control since she entered the room. He has held control since he entered Baltimore, she imagines.

“No,” she answers. Perhaps before today she was under that impression; that Hannibal kept Will on a leash to stay and go as he pleased. She thinks, now, that the leash is not on _Will_. “I hoped, Will. I hoped that it was… coercion. But I don’t hope anymore. I know the truth, and unlike Jack I’m not going to let what we had blind me to that.” The warmth returns to Will then. He smiles, like Alana just gave him a gift rather than condemned him.

“A man like Jack Crawford will always be blind to anything but what he wants to see, even under the guise of revelation,” Will says, a bitter undercurrent to his words. It makes Alana nervous to hear Will speak of Jack with contempt like that. Nervous but curious.

“Is Jack on your blacklist?” She asks. Will looks amused.

“ _Hannibal_ doesn’t want Jack dead,” The way he says it turns the nerves to nausea. “He thinks it’s far more fun to watch him run around with his hands grasping air, never quite able to reach us.”

“He reached _you_ ,” she says, but doesn’t quite believe it. The longer Will sits in front of her, the deeper she gets the sense that he _means_ to be here. What they need to figure out is _why_. The dread she felt before lingers at the base of her skull. “I should return you to Jack.”

“In the long, over-arching melodrama of the past six years, there is one thing I now know for certain; I was never Jack’s to return.” Alana does not know if Will just implies he was not Jack’s, or if he implies he was someone else’s. “Regardless, I’m sure he has more _very_ compelling evidence that I left with Hannibal against my will, or because he threatened my dogs, or because I was just feeling a little under the weather that day, that’ll prove my innocence.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll speak against you in court,” she finds herself saying, and the good humor in her voice disturbs her.

“We’ve come a long way since my arrest,” he says, and she knows what he means. Her desperation to save him then was palpable. Now she wants to see him behind bars. Or buried next to Hannibal Lecter.

“You weren’t a killer then.”

“Garrett Jacob Hobbs would disagree.”

“You didn’t have a choice, Will. He was a serial killer, he would have-” she interrupts herself when she sees the raised eyebrow pointed at her, and she realizes how ridiculous it is that she’s defending him. She huffs an incredulous laugh. “Old habits die hard.” They sit silently for a moment, just looking at each other, and it strikes Alana that this may be the least awkward air they have ever had in a moment between them. It hurts to realize. A banging on the door interrupts the uncomfortably comfortable silence, and Jack opens the door with a frown on his face.

“I just got a call from Molly Graham saying one of her dogs has gone missing.” There’s no question to the group which dog it is. Will does not look surprised, but Alana’s mouth falls open in shock. Of all the things she expected from tonight—death, carnage, blood on every surface—Winston never came into the equation.

“Did he run away?” Alana asks, remembering the weeks of chasing after Winston running to pine over Will on his porch.

“He’s never run from them before, so I’m not inclined to believe he did now. He was inside of the house three hours ago, and now they can’t find him anywhere. Anything to add to that, Will?” Jack looks ready to raise Hell, and Will looks at him with a calm Alana didn’t know he could have without entering his mind.

“You said he was inside the house three hours ago, Jack. I’ve been here about twelve.”

“Where is Hannibal?”

“You think Hannibal Lecter would risk everything he has for one dog, Jack?” Will asks, tone mocking.

“I do.”

“And why is that?” He baits. Jack looks angry, sad, and just on the verge of broken.

“Because,” Jack grits out. “You asked him to.” Will grins like the cat that got the cream. Alana thinks if she did not already believe he spent too much time with Hannibal, that expression would be what would have convinced her. She thinks back to the thought she had that Will _wanted_ to be here. That he had been baiting them for _something_. She figured it was Hannibal’s scheme; something bloody and nefarious. She’s more surprised than she really should be that Hannibal risked his life and freedom for Will Graham to retrieve his dog.

Jack makes a call to Sugarloaf police. They seem hesitant to follow up on a case of dog-napping, citing the number of a local pet shelter, until Jack says the words, “Hannibal the Cannibal”. The officers are more inclined to listen after that. Once they have their information and the promise of FBI backup on the way, Jack sets his gaze on Will. It’s weighted with mourning.

“I promised not to give up on you this time,” he says quietly. “I promised not to let you break.”

“And perhaps you would have succeeded,” Will replies. “If you’d meant it.” And with that, Alana watches the last glimmer of hope Jack held onto for Will Graham flicker out. He nods, like he’s agreeing with what Will said. He steps out of the room and calls for the officers outside of the interrogation room to place Will in a holding cell.

“Goodbye, Alana.” Will tells her before the officers pull him up. It feels final. For a moment, she’s afraid he’s about to make a break for it. She can practically see his teeth tearing out an officer’s throat. He doesn’t, and she breathes easier. The officers leave with Will, and Alana and Jack stand in the room alone.

“I don’t think I need you here anymore, Alana,” Jack says. Alana smiles sadly.

“As much as I’d like to go, I think you need me now more than ever.” Jack huffs a sad laugh at that.

“I fooled myself,” he says. “He told me, but I couldn’t believe him. I couldn’t believe I’d failed him _that_ thoroughly.”

“Jack,” Alana starts, firm in her conviction. “Will isn’t an experiment gone wrong. He’s a man with choices, and he made those choices for himself. Maybe you didn’t do the right thing back then, but who he is now is _not_ your doing.”

“It just feels like- like maybe if I hadn’t pushed him-”

“We’ll never know,” she interrupts. “We’ll never know if your influence was better or worse for him. What we do know is who he is now. And no matter what you did, you did _not_ make Will a killer."

“This makes me think I should get a therapist.” Alana smiles.

“I’ll give you my card,” she jokes, and Jack laughs. It’s simple for a moment, and it hurts. Her and Jack’s friendship has been splintered since the early days; the two constantly differing on how to care for their friend. Now that friend is sitting in a holding cell twenty feet away to be prosecuted for murder and, quite probably, cannibalism.

“He’ll be transferred to Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane tomorrow, as soon as possible,” Jack tells her. “I’m staying here until he does.”

“Then I will too.” And Alana knows it’s more than he deserves. He lied to her to get her out here, put her family in danger to save a man he already lost, but she knows what it’s like to get so far into the tangled webs of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter that morals become second to their capture, so she shows him the kindness regardless.

They stay together for a while, trying to play card games they both only remember bits and pieces of the rules to, but Jack falls asleep at the desk in the office he’s borrowing, so Alana finds a chair in the hallway adjacent to Will’s holding cell and tries to sleep. She can’t. Every noise she hears she thinks is Hannibal, and her eyes fly open despite her dedicated conviction to keeping them closed. After what seems like, and probably is, hours, her brain becomes foggy enough to put her in a lull close enough to sleep to obscure her mind. The fog clears, though, when she hears two familiar voices. Will’s is louder, and happier than he’s sounded all day. The other is one she has not had to hear in anything but nightmares in seven months. Everything in her tells her to run as fast as she can in the opposite direction, but the survival instinct she has gained in knowing Hannibal Lecter tells her to feign sleep.

“How is he?” Will’s voice carries into the hallway.

“I’m glad to know you put the health of your dog over my own,” Hannibal teases.

“It’s better you know now rather than later.” It makes Alana’s skin crawl to listen to them happily rib each other like a couple picking their dog up from the vet’s office while one breaks the other out of jail.

“Your candor is appreciated, my darling.” The words slip easily from his lips, and it should not surprise her to hear them but it does. He hadn’t used personal endearments with her. She thought him incapable of the tenderness. With Will, though, it seems he is capable of a great many things.

“If you’ve gotten your fill of me in chains, would you mind getting me out of here?” Will asks, sounding endearingly exasperated.

“And if I haven’t?”

“Then I hope you like the taste of psychiatric facility green beans,” and she cannot see Hannibal’s face, but from the way Will laughs she can imagine it. There are a few minutes of tinkering, and in that time, Alana considers getting someone. Quietly going to Jack and telling him the mess that’s about to be made in Baltimore or screaming at the top of her lungs before running as fast as she can. But she remembers Will telling her to be safe rather than brave, and diverting from the path of herself from four years ago, who did not have the life and family she has now, she chooses safety.

Silently she slumps on her makeshift bed until, finally, the chain unlocks. To Alana it sounds like a gunshot. She hears them walk out of the holding cell, her breath hitching despite herself. The footsteps stop. Alana is sure, in that moment, that Will has lied to her. That Hannibal is going to take her life and the life of her family after. Then she hears Hannibal say,

“Oh, I kept the first for another day.” It sounds familiar, awfully familiar, but her mind is racing with fear and hope and she cannot for the life of her place it. Without a word, they begin to walk again. Will’s silence is a surprise, but she remembers how final that “Goodbye, Alana” earlier had felt. The footsteps fade until eventually she hears a door close, and she lets out a sob and a breath all at once. She does not know if Jack is alive, and she does not know if the officers who were watching over Will are alive, but she is safe. Her wife and child are safe. Perhaps she is evil for all the other people in the world who are not, but Hannibal Lecter is out of her life for good, and Will was right. Her family comes before the world.

Despite it all, she falls back asleep in the uncomfortable chair and dreams of two roads. Jack takes a confident step on the travel-worn road, and Alana steps tentatively toward the other and makes all the difference.


	2. ages and ages hence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue.

It takes them a long time to get to Jack. They have watched him travel the world to find them in vain and slowly realize a life hell-bent on revenge disguised as justice is no life to live. They give him a year in self-actualization. They let him passively try enjoying a lonely life he barely fits into anymore. Then they show up on his porch with grocery bags and a syringe. He does not have time to scream. He does not know if he would have regardless.

What must be hours later, he wakes up at his own dining room table. It’s probably the least exciting part of the night, but the first thing he notices is that they’ve sat him at the head of the table. The second thing is that his left arm is severed from the shoulder down. If he were less heavy with drugs, he might scream, but something about this right now seems like it was inevitable. He and Miriam Lass will match for the rest of their lives. Well, for the rest of his life. He does not suspect tonight will end with dinner.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Hannibal confirms a seat down, handing Jack a glass of water. “Drink this, please,” and Jack wants to refuse it, just to be petulant, but figures he has a better chance of getting out of this with the rest of his limbs intact if he takes the water. Not to mention the dry mouth the sedatives gave him. He takes it, and before he knows it, he’s chugged the entire glass. Hannibal smiles and takes it from him. The entire exchange is too much like a host happily serving his company, but that is Hannibal’s usual setting. Jack almost thanks him, before realizing how ridiculous it would be to thank the man who drugged him. “I apologize for how late dinner will be. While the years have made Will a decent chef, time management still escapes him, and he insisted on making dinner himself.” He sounds exasperated, but fond.

“Did he kick you out of the kitchen?” Jack asks incredulously.

“I was threatened death via wooden spoon if I didn’t “quit hovering and micromanaging” then banished out here under the guise of preparing you for dinner,” Jack thought Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham were done surprising him, but the sight of notorious serial killer “Hannibal the Cannibal” practically sulking at Jack’s dining room table has given him one last surprise before the inevitable ending of tonight. It makes Jack want to laugh. He does. Because it is so _fucking_ absurd. Hannibal, at least, looks more amused than annoyed, but that could be because he’s already in the process of eating and killing Jack.

“Did you bring Winston?” He finds himself asking because the only thing that could make this false domesticity even more excruciating would be the dog that cost him his sanity. Hannibal shakes his head with a sad smile.

“The years have been many,” he says vaguely. How much time has passed between then and now do not hit Jack until those words. He finds himself wanting to say, “I’m sorry for your loss”, but does not think he could stomach saying it to Hannibal.

“I still can’t believe you risked everything, just because he asked,” he finds himself saying instead. Hannibal’s smile is happier now.

“He wanted to come back for them all but knew the risk it posed for us, so he settled for Winston. Between you and me,” he says leaning in, faux-conspiratorially, as if they are nothing but old friends at a reunion. “For him, I would have risked the whole pack.” Jack thinks if they were not something out of a nightmare, he would admire their dedication to each other. A noise like something’s been dropped from the kitchen brings them both from the moment. They hear a shouted, “Five minute warning!” That has Hannibal soft in the eyes and Jack queasy.

“What are we having?” Jack finds himself asking. He knows it’s a mistake before the words are out of his mouth, but his morbid curiosity wins out over his common sense. The sweet smile of a man in love turns into the grin of a predator in motion.

“Denver steak stew.”

**Author's Note:**

> this fic had nothing to do with robert frost until i got to alana's dream and i was like "lmao this reminds me of that one poem." anyway this is the first fic i've sat down and just written without ignoring it for months in literal years so i feel very good!! hope you enjoyed!!


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